


Poor George

by Bloke_with_a_beard



Category: Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:14:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27147193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloke_with_a_beard/pseuds/Bloke_with_a_beard
Summary: We know what happened in Big Six - but do we know why?A stand-alone tale that is not particularly related to my other works
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Poor George

**Author's Note:**

> A mix of alternative POV, back story and direct quote exploring the possible reasons for it all

**Poor George**

“So what shall we call the little darling then? I rather like Hilda for a girl,” Ethel said. “And perhaps Lilly as a second name? After my dear Aunt who died so young?”  
“Yes my dear, Hilda Alice: that does sound nicely mellifluous. And I was thinking – in these troubled times we have so much to be proud of in our glorious King, so maybe George for a boy?” her husband replied. “George Alfred? After the King and my Grandfather?”  
And so it was, on 14th March 1915, when they were delivered of a healthy boy, his proud parents duly named him George Alfred. But sadly their family days of joy were very short lived, as little George’s father was killed on the Western Front in 1916, just one of the many, many thousands who lost their lives on the Somme. His mother struggled manfully on, devastated by the loss of her dear husband, doing her utmost to provide all that was needed for her young child, but she never really recovering from the shock of being such a young widow.  
Her parents-in-law took the two of them in to the family home, providing care and sustenance in the ways they saw best, but it was a poor, thin life they allowed. Strict rules governed almost every aspect of daily life, with even greater restrictions on what they always referred to as “The Sabbath.” Ethel coped with the strictures placed upon her, resenting them inwardly while outwardly following them for the sake of her dear boy. She never really accepted them though, and unbeknown to her parents-in-law, she drew up her own will: one that provided a way of escape for her child should anything happen to her. She left all that there was of her meagre possession, and more importantly the care of her precious son, to her sister and brother in law. Their home in Horning may not have had the grandeur of Swannington Hall, but it had far fewer rules and regulations, and the more she saw of how her in-laws lived, the more she regarded the freedoms of her sister’s life as being of far greater importance than social rank or standing.  
The will was drawn up by one of her maternal uncles, a man many years her senior who was a partner in a firm of solicitors in Cambridge. The will was only ever intended as a last resort of course, and they both thought of it as no more than a final safety measure: neither of them ever expected it to actually be put into effect. But then, when George was just three and a half, the scourge of Spanish Flu swept the country, and to everyone’s horror George Alfred Owdon found himself an orphan.  
The senior Owdons, secure in their privilege of being the masters of Swannington Hall, never expected the shock they had when the will was read. How dare she? How dare that young upstart of a girl have the sheer affrontery to draw up such a will? To slight them? To go against their natural, family wishes? And to insist the nasty, mewling little brat was brought up by a mere tradesman? A purveyor of wool worsteds and printed calicos? And living in a house that was actually in a common village, where it had no more than a single acre of land?  
But the will had been drawn up with all correct attention to the law, and insult that it was, it remained a legally binding document. There was no choice left to them: George was duly dispatched to Horning with every single item of Ethel’s possessions accompanying him – and the Owdons of Swannington Hall had nothing more to do with him from that day forth. He was expunged from the family records, and regarded as never having been. 

George himself, of course, was too young to understand all that was happening around him. All he knew was that the big, echoing rooms had gone, being replaced by smaller, more cosy spaces. He was even more aware that his dear Mother had gone too, and his nurse with her, leaving him with these new people who cuddled him and fed him, and tucked him up in his old bed, though now in a new room.  
His old toys were mainly still there, and if there weren’t so many people in his life now, at least these new ones took far more notice of him. He was too young to appreciate it, but when he made it plain that he did not like prunes they never appeared in his bowl again. As he grew a little older, and the memories of the old, big house faded away, he discovered that if he made it clear that he really did like having a Kit Kat quite often, then Kit Kat biscuits were available several times a week.  
The words ‘poor little orphan’ took a long time to have any meaning to him, as did the concept of being spoiled, but that made little difference to young George as he grew up. He had his way in most things, was given just about everything he yelled for, and became a thoroughly spoiled little child . . . .  
. . . . . who grew into a wilful, wayward youth . . . .   
. . . . . who soon discovered the delights of causing trouble for others, safe in the knowledge that he would rarely get punished for it, even on the rare occasion he was silly enough to get caught.  
Other people, he decided, were only there to be got into trouble. It was such fun, seeing them being punished, while he sat at the side and greatly enjoyed watching their discomfort.

  
All through his growing years George was well fed and well clothed: the perks of his uncle’s job provided the clothing, and the large vegetable plot his aunt tended in the garden helped considerably with the food. He was always given more than sufficient pocket money too, but even so he never had enough to fulfil his wishes. Screaming and yowling, two different methods of extortion he was expert at, produced most things for him, but even they failed to increase his income. So he found other ways.  
There was a box his adopted parents kept on the sideboard, labelled as being to support the Missionary Society, with a big paper label pasted over the opening in the base – but the careful use of a table knife usually slid a few coppers out of the slot at the top, and after a guest had visited he sometimes even managed to extract a nice, shiny silver sixpence as well.  
The Roy’s shop in the village had a display of easily pocketable chocolate bars which had been positioned in a far too dark corner, and if you bumped into it the right way, the contents often fell on the floor – and if one or two ended up in his pocket rather than back where they came from, who was to notice?

Then one day, when he was out scragging bird’s nests as he often did, a man came past and offered him money if he kept the eggs intact but only destroyed the nest. He didn’t want the common sparrows or blackbird eggs though, he preferred coots and waterhens, and most of all he really wanted buttles, beardies, water rails and the ones far harder to find. But he paid good money for them, so George soon learned how to watch where the birds went, and how to follow them till they gave away their secret hiding places – and those smooth, rounded shapes meant good money for him each Saturday.

Therefore George did not like it when that jumped up little squirt of the doctor’s son started getting his friends to watch a few of the nests. If he wanted to get some extra money by selling birds eggs, what was that to do with those stupid children? The birds would always lay some more! Why, last year he’d managed to take three clutches from one really good nest: that had earned him a very welcome twelve and sixpence!  
But the annoying boy’s father, the village doctor, was also a magistrate – so that could actually become too big a problem for George just to shrug off. And the stupid doctor’s neighbour was a solicitor, and his twin girls were getting involved in watching the nests too. That was a further problem George did not need. The kids were nothing much, but between them their parents were a bit too close to being the Law for George’s liking.   
The village Bobby was never a problem: he was too fat and slow to follow George on his nefarious rounds, and was often either digging his garden or watching for occasional speeding motorist on the Norwich Road, not looking around the village or along the river. Constable Tedder was never a threat to George’s money-making schemes, but those young kids and their families were. Why, they even got hold of the Keeper a few times, and once came close to getting George into the kind of trouble he did not want – they would have succeeded too if he hadn’t been such an expert at lying his way out of a corner.

But then that idiot of a doctor’s lad went and cast a visitor’s boat off! Best thing he could have ever done! It was quite good fun of course, to sometimes loosen a visitor’s moorings, then watch them panic when they started to drift off. George had done that a few times: naturally he never did it often enough to draw attention to his game, and he always picked the new, inexperienced visitors who used silly knots and things like that . . . .   
But for the chief troublemaker, the one who’d done the most to get in George’s way, to set a boat loose . . . . and for such a stupid reason too! Just because the bunch of visitors had moored on top of a coot’s nest! And it was one George had never managed to rob either, not with the way it was built so far out on the edge of the water like that. He’d have either needed to borrow a boat, which always brought questions with it, or gone wading in that horrible muddy, cold river. No – that pair of coots could keep their stupid eggs for all he cared . . . . but if he could get Tom Dudgeon into trouble for casting the boat off, then surely that would get him off the river and out of his way, so he could gather even more eggs for sale . . . .  
George hadn’t realised it, but he must actually have spoken to Tom as he was going down to cast off the boat that evening. He’d just been having a quiet smoke by the deserted ferry, trying one of the new cigarettes he’d lifted from his uncle’s packet, when Tom came hurrying along in his stupid little punt. The way Tom reacted to seeing George already made him look guilty, but he’d not realised the reasons till too late. George of course was an expert at making sure he never looked guilty, as he’d found long ago that it was always so much easier to shift blame onto someone else if he maintained an innocent, guileless face, no matter which of his schemes might have been discovered.  
And he’d not realised that night what Tom was off to do! He guessed it soon afterwards though, when those people off the Margoletta started asking around the village. Oh yes! George could put two and two together, and managed to achieve four far more often than most people did. So Tom had been casting off their boat? Mmmmm! Now then . . . George couldn’t risk telling them outright who to look for, but if he dropped enough hints, gave them enough clues . . . a river without Tom and his friends would be so much easier to take eggs from!

But he failed.   
Twice he sent the Margoletta people off in the right direction, and twice Tom managed to give them the slip. That stunt with the sail down all loose and Tom hiding under it! Honestly! Couldn’t they see what was right under their noses? Seemingly not though, not even when he told them that Tom’s Titmouse had had the name painted out, and he was now on a bigger boat called the Teasel. Even then they missed him!

Then he heard they’d sunk their stupid motor boat down on Breydon Water – sunk it when they had Tom in their grasp – and had to be rescued by those other three little bird-watching urchins in their ancient ship’s boat with the silly name. Failure! Abject failure, when success was so close.  
Oh well . . . . George would have to try again, with a different method, using different people to do his work for him. That he would get Tom and his friends off the river was now certain to him. They were in his way. They were between him and his money. They simply had to go.

~ ~ ~

George held his peace through the summer: there were no bird’s nests to raid then, and everywhere was so full of trippers and holidaymakers that someone was always watching, so it wasn’t worth trying anything much. He’d wait till it was quieter though. Maybe try a different trick in the autumn? Or even leave it till next spring? That was, after all, the most important time to get the silly lot of them out of the way.

Then late on in the holidays, when the thoughts of going back to a new school year were growing ever larger in people’s minds, George’s other Aunt wrote to ask if her boy could come to stay with them for a week or two. She wanted to pay a visit to her husband’s family in Austria: there was a will being read there, and there was a very good chance they might be in line for a few rather nice items of jewellery . . . so could her Ralph come to Horning for the last two weeks before school?  
George had always got on quite well with Ralph. They were both much of an age, and much of a temperament – so he came.  
George, his uncle and his aunt all went together to meet Ralph off the train at Wroxham: it was so useful, the way his father’s new company had provided him with a vehicle to use on all his commercial rounds. True, it wasn’t supposed to be used for private journeys, but who would know? It made life so much easier.  
George was looking forward to having Ralph around: they were sure to be able to get someone into trouble between them. True, it meant Ralph would have to sleep on the narrow bed that had been squeezed into George’s room, but that only gave the opportunity to talk together in private, which naturally they did.  
“So how’s the side-line in bird’s eggs coming along then?” Ralph asked the first night, as they lay there in the half-darkness together. “Still making a good sum from it?”  
“Wrong time of year, Ralph,” George said. “Surely, even a city dweller like you knows that birds only lay eggs in the spring!”   
“Spring? Autumn? What’s the difference?” Ralph laughed. “You want a decent side-line like mine! Bookies need runners all the year round, my boy. That’s steady income, that is. That’s what you need!”  
“Oh, I do all right on the eggs,” George said. “My man in Norwich buys pretty well all I can get for him, and I know it’s only seasonal, but it’s good, easy money when it comes.”  
“So how are you going to extend the business then?” Ralph asked. “Take on a couple of young lads to help you? Concentrate on the eggs with the highest premium? Build nesting boxes to ensure an even better supply?”  
“I’m not in a position to do things like that,” George sighed. “There’s a bunch of kids – nothing more than do-gooders – started up in the village. They reckon they’re out to protect as many nests as they can from evil nest robbers like me.”  
“Oh dear!” Ralph said sarcastically. “Oh how positively awful! So what are you going to do to smash their little game up? Surely you’re not going to let a few little village kids stand between you and your rightful riches?”  
“It’s difficult though,” George said. “The ring leader’s the local doctor’s son, and he’s a magistrate too – the doctor that is, not the brat. And two of the kid’s side-kicks are the daughters of the solicitor who lives next door! I can’t simply smash them: it’s not just that they would bring the law down on me, their stupid parents already are the law!”  
“So?” Ralph drawled. “Are those kids all there is in this silly bunch? Aren’t there any other ones in the group you could get at?”  
“They’ve got a few idiots in other villages that help them,” George said. “But they’re all miles away so they never bother me. Then locally they’ve got three village lads who help out too. They’re nothing much – just boat-builder’s sons. Youngest one’s not long out of nappies.”  
“Well, there’s your weak point then!” Ralph said. “Go for them! Push them under and the older three will probably go too. So then? What’s the local crime that would get them into most trouble?”  
“Well . . . . casting off boats I suppose . . . . ” George said slowly. “Just no one ever does that round here – except me of course! They all say there’s so much depends on the holiday trade that none of them would ever dare upset the visit . . . Ooooh! Except . . . . ! Ooooh yes! Ooooh how come I’ve never thought of that before . . . . ”  
“Do tell!” Ralph chuckled. “What wonderfully underhand plan are you dreaming up? I need to be in on it too you know!”

The next day George and Ralph kept a quiet eye on the staithe, and when they saw the Death and Glory being moored there, they put the initial part of their plan into effect. They strolled as slowly as they could along the staithe, making sure they stood for a moment in front of the old biddy with her easel so that she had to stop her painting till they moved on, and then raised their voices as they went past the boat.   
“Interfering young pups,” George said loudly.   
“What business is it of theirs?” Ralph replied.  
“That little cruiser next to them should do for a start,” George murmured as they walked around the corner. “No one else anywhere near – come back tonight when it’s gone quiet: should be easy to patch it on them!”

Once it was dark George and Ralph went back to the staithe. There was no light showing on the Death and Glory, so they began to loosen the warps on the cruiser.  
“What’s that?” Ralph suddenly hissed.  
“What?” George asked.  
“Lights in that building!” Ralph said. “Looked like someone flashing a torch around – yes! There it is again!”  
“Someone up in Jonnatt’s loft,” George said. “I wonder . . . . ”  
He realised he was talking to no one, as Ralph was already making his way across to the big, dark sheds. George followed him, then as they got there something fell from the upstairs window, landing with a crash and a clatter on the edge of the slipway. Ralph darted forward, picked up whatever had fallen, and hurled it back. A window shattered, so they both made their hurried way into the deep shadows beside the shed.  
As they watched, four shapes emerged from a doorway. “ . . . your face is still bleeding,” one of them said.  
“Bother it,” another replied. “I hope to goodness we haven’t got any blood on those sails . . . ”  
“That’s them!” George whispered. “Best keep out of the way for a minute.”  
The four young boys made an ineffective search of the staithe, then one walked off to the village and the other three went into the boat.  
“Give them a few minutes to settle,” Ralph said. “If we set the boat loose now they might still hear us.”  
“Hope someone knows they were up and about late,” George quietly chuckled. “That’ll make it even easier to patch it on them!”  
The movements on the boat soon ceased, and then the light in the cabin went out, so George and Ralph quietly finished undoing the moorings and have the empty cruiser a push. The river’s flow soon took her, so they walked softly away, their campaign to clear the river begun.

~ ~ ~ ~ 

The next morning George and Ralph had heard all about the boat being set adrift long before they got to the staithe. They quickly realised that their plan was working nicely, as already others were spreading the rumour that those three lads they were targeting were the guilty party. They made sure to walk right past the Death and Glory though, just to add their weight to the rumour.  
“At their old tricks again,” George said, intentionally rather loudly. “Casting off boats.”  
“Is that the sort they are?” Ralph asked, staring at them as if they were some sort of animals in a zoo.  
“You’ve heard of Yarmouth sharks?” George asked. “Well they’re just the same. They wreck boats first, and then get the credit for salving them later. No better than common thieves.”  
“Going nicely!” he added quietly to Ralph as they walked away.

They went back again at just gone twelve, and were in time to hear the three victims being given a hard time by the boatyard workers as they went to the pub for their lunch. It was so wonderful to hear the lads protesting their innocence, and to see that already many of the men did not believe them. George and Ralph sat on the wall by the pump to enjoy their already growing triumph, silently gloating at the way their plan was working out so well.

  
After they had eaten their own lunch George and Ralph decided it might be best to go out for a while. George’s uncle had been making comments about how his cigarettes seemed to vanish far too quickly, and that he was sure he wasn’t smoking that many, so they decided to cycle up to Wroxham and actually buy themselves some.  
“Can’t you get them in the village then?” Ralph asked.  
“It’s a village, you idiot!” George replied. “Yes, I could easily buy some here – but within an hour someone would have told my aunt or uncle that I had bought them, and then where would I be? No, I know it’s a long way to go just for some gaspers, but it’ll be better this way.”  
As they cycled across the staithe though they saw a tall, white-sailed cutter moored up just where the cruiser had been. The owner had just finished stowing his sails and as he got off the boat and crossed the staithe he called out to ask when the next bus left for Wroxham.  
“Due in about ten minutes,” George told him as they all went over towards Lower Street. “The stop’s up this road and left at the top. But you do realise you’re taking a frightful risk, leaving your boat there, don’t you? Those young whippersnappers on the ramshackle thing next to you cast off the cruiser moored just there last night.”  
“Oh surely not!” the man said. “Right in the middle of the village? I’m sure I’ll be safe leaving her there: it’s only till tomorrow.”  
“Well, don’t say we haven’t warned you.” George said in a high voice, making sure it sounded right across the staithe.  
The stranger nodded and walked off.  
George and Ralph went back to the Death and Glory.   
“You’re to leave that boat alone,” George said.  
“We haven’t touched her, have we?” one of them replied.  
“You’d better not,” George told him  
“Patching everything on us . . . . . ” another one was saying as George and Ralph got back on their bicycles and rode away, making sure none of the young lads saw the smiles on their faces.

That night George and Ralph went back very quietly to the staithe. All was dark and quiet on the Death and Glory, and the cutter was still just where it had been left, so they silently untied it and pushed it out into the stream. Then just for good measure they made their way along the river bank, and slipped the moorings on a rowing boat, a small green painted houseboat, and a rakish looking yacht.  
“That should stir things up!” George chuckled as they got back to the house. “That was those stuck-up idiots the Towser’s rowing boat, and I’m fairly sure that racing yacht was the Shooting Star.”  
“So?” Ralph replied. “We never touched them! Everyone knows it was those three lads did it!”

Next morning they realised their plans might have gone awry though. They were just off to get some more cigarettes when they saw the cutter being returned to its place by the staithe – and it was the very people they wanted to carry the blame who were returning her.  
“Leave it to me!” Ralph said. “Just wait a moment . . . . yes, now’s the time!”  
The yacht was already alongside the staithe, with the Death and Glory being returned to her old berth. Two of the young lads were just making the yacht fast to her moorings when Ralph moved in. The two of them brought their bicycles to a halt next to the boys, and jumped off.  
“At it again!” Ralph said loudly. “Well. We are witnesses this time. Now then. Just you leave those warps alone. Lucky we were passing. You leave those warps alone I tell you . . . . Casting boats off in broad daylight and then trying to tell people you didn’t.”  
“Well, we didn’t,” the smallest lad said. “So there. You can see we didn’t. We’re tying her up, not casting her off.”  
“Likely story,” Ralph said. “Why, we caught you at it, with the warps already loose. Come on, George, let’s go and report them to that policeman right away.”  
“We’ll do it when we get back from Norwich,” George said. “No time to waste now. Caught them in the act though. And young Tom Dudgeon in it too.”  
Tom, the doctor’s son, and clearly the oldest and best dressed of the four lads, jumped ashore.  
“We didn’t cast her off!” he said. “We found her adrift, with her warps hanging loose. Her mast was caught in a tree. Look at the leaves on the deck. Anything might have happened if we hadn’t come along.”  
“It were a salvage job,” one of the three lads said.  
“Casting off the Margoletta was salvage, too, I suppose,” George smirked. “You make those ropes fast again at once, and don’t think you can cast her off after we’ve gone. We’ve seen you at it.”  
“We’re making ’em fast anyway,” one of the others said. “You see we was.”  
“We saw you with the warps loose, casting her off,” George said. “And I suppose you’ll say you had nothing to do with all the others. I suppose you’ll say you didn’t touch the Towzer’s rowing boat, or the green houseboat, or the Shooting Star?”  
“What?” doctor’s lad exclaimed. “Nobody’s gone and touched the Shooting Star?”  
“Haven’t they? You ought to know. I suppose she got away by herself, and the rowing boat, and the houseboat. Likely, isn’t it? And this time you’re caught with the warps in your hands. Come on, Ralph. You others’ll be hearing about this.”  
George and Ralph mounted their bicycles and rode away. “You said too much then!” Ralph said as soon as they left the village. “Just as well they really are too stupid to know what’s right in front of them! You told them which other boats we set loose – but how were we supposed to know that?”  
“All right, all right,” George replied, suddenly aware how close he had come to ruining their plan. “But they never noticed though. That’s what I’ve always found – get in and accuse them first: get them too flustered to think. You can get away with anything then.”

George and Ralph had no intention of ever cycling as far as Norwich, but stopped at a different tobacconists in Wroxham and got their cigarettes. They rested for an hour or two in a patch of woodland near the vicarage, smoking several of the cigarettes they’d just bought, then made their way back to Horning again. As they cycled across the staithe they found a good sized crowd gathered beside the Death and Glory, so they paused to see if they could add any further discontent to it.   
On the top of the crudely built cabin there was a hand written card saying “Asleep. Do not disturb,” with the local policeman busy reading it.  
“I’ll disturb them!” someone said, but before they could act PC Tedder thumped the planking hard with his large hand. 

George and Ralph had already spoken to the visitor, making out that they’d seen the boys messing with his mooring ropes, and the owner of the green houseboat was busy telling people how he had waked in the night to find himself drifting down the river. The Towzer boys were telling how they had found their rowing skiff caught in the chains of the ferry, and the owners of the Shooting Star were explaining that only luck had saved their little racing cutter from being wrecked against some piling, though they had tied her up themselves after sailing in her the day before. Old Tedder was getting wonderfully confused, looking at his note-book and sucking the end of his pencil. George and Ralph had got everybody stirred up and talking at once but then, as the Death and Glories three tousled heads emerged, the boys still rubbing sleep from their bleary eyes, the angry chatter died to a sudden silence.  
“So you’re at it again then,” Mr Tedder said. “What are you doing it for? Up late last night you were. I see a light in your windows. And now this morning you were seen casting off that yacht. . . .”  
“Tying it up,” the oldest one said.  
Everyone started shouting again, with Ralph busy helping them along, but eventually Tedder managed to quieten them down once more, so when he could be heard he asked where the three of them had been in the night.   
“We was with Harry Bangate at the eel sett,” the oldest boy replied.  
“I bet that’s a lie,” George said.  
“Soon settle that,” one of the boat builders said. “Here’s old Harry now, jus’ coming down the river.”  
Unfortunately the old eel man confirmed their tale, but George knew he didn’t need to worry. The mood of the crowd was already against them, and no one really wanted to listen.   
“Well if it wasn’t them,” the owner of the green houseboat said. “It’s up to the police to find out who it was. And to stop it. A pretty pass we’ve come to if I can’t sleep in this reach without having to get up at all hours to see that no rogue’s been casting off my mooring ropes.”  
“It’s all very well,” George said. “But don’t forget we caught them at it when they were turning this yacht adrift.”  
“And I tied her up all right last night,” her owner said.  
“We find her with her mast in that tree,” one of the boys insisted doggedly. “There’s leaves on her deck yet. If you’d been a bit sooner you’d have seen us getting her clear.”  
“You hear that,” one of the workmen said.  
“It certainly looked to me as if they were casting her off,” George said.   
The hubbub arose again as half a dozen people were trying to talk to Mr Tedder at the same time.  
“Something’s got to be done.”  
“Don’t you keep an eye on things at all?”  
“Police can’t be up all night and all day,” said Mr Tedder.   
“We’ll have to go turn about in keeping watch.”  
“We will if you will.”  
The crowd drifted away, with George and Ralph and the owners of the boats that had been cast loose still talking to Mr Tedder, and telling him what ought to be done as he walked slowly off the staithe.

Police Constable Tedder was so confused he did not know what to do for the best. How could he watch the entire length of the river on his own? There had been suggestions about mounting a patrol of volunteers, but he wasn’t sure if that was the best idea, even if Ralph and George kept on telling him it was the only way, and that the Towser boys were already talking about patrols too.   
It would be good if they did, George chuckled to himself. The more the merrier! They’d never find anything!  
Still unsure of the best action, the very last thing Tedder did before going to bed was go and check on the Death and Glory – only to find that George and Ralph were also at the staithe, and they immediately joined with him.   
The boats were all just as he’d last seen them, but as he stood looking at them Ralph took matters into his own hands.   
“Chimney’s cold,” he announced, reaching out to feel it. “They’ll be asleep likely.”  
“Better make sure, Mr Tedder,” George said. “They may be ashore and casting somebody’s boat off this minute.”  
Tedder reached out and knocked loudly on the roof of the cabin.  
“What’s that?” a sleepy voice mumbled inside.  
“It’s all right,” one of the others said. “I’ll see to ’em. You went out last time.”   
The door was unlocked and a sleepy face looked out – the oldest one again, George thought. Whichever one of them it was, he was met by a torch being flashed in his face.  
“Only one of them,” George said.  
“Pete and Bill in there too?” Tedder asked.  
“What’s wrong?” the second lad asked as he came out. “Have you caught somebody?”  
“Not likely if you’re all three here,” George replied. “Not unless it’s Tom Dudgeon.”  
“Tom never . . .”  
“Shut up,” George said. “Everybody knows Tom did. All three of you in there?”  
“I’m here,” the last one said, coming out and blinking in the light of the torch.  
“Better go to bed again,” said Mr Tedder. “Just had to make sure where you was. This casting adrift’s got to stop.”  
“Look here,” the first one said. “We was asleep, we was.”  
“Well, you can go to sleep again then!” George replied.  
“No harm done,” said Mr Tedder. “But I tell your Dads and I tell you, you’d be better in your beds at home.”

To make it look as if the threatened river patrols were already working, George and Ralph cast off no boats that night, but then next day as they went to the staithe in the late afternoon, checking to see what likely opportunities they might have, one of their targets ran full tilt into them as they came round the corner of Jonnatt’s boatshed.  
“Sorry,” the boy said, and dashed across the road.  
“You look where you’re going,” George said.  
The boy – the youngest one they realised – took no notice, but shouted across to where a group of woman were talking on the corner. “Mum!” he called. “Mum! We’re off to Potter. Can you tell Joe’s Mum, and Bill’s.” He ran back and jumped onto their boat, just as it was being towed off behind a small cruiser.  
“Just as well we heard that!” Ralph murmured as we walked away. “Never do to cast anything off round here tonight! Where is this Potter place though? Any chance of getting there to make some more mischief?”  
“Potter Heigham,” George said. “About six miles by road: much more than that by the river of course. Feel like a longer cycle ride?”

George and Ralph said they were going on river patrol duties again, then made sure no one was watching as instead they cycled off out of the village that evening. The road to Potter Heigham was far too long for their liking, but as Norfolk does not suffer greatly from hills, they got there in just under an hour. They could not see the Death and Glory anywhere near the bridge so had to leave their bikes and walk along the rond, but then they found her moored on the right bank, up above the railway bridge, in amongst the others there, and with far too many of the boat owners and assorted local urchins around to risk casting off anything moored nearby.   
Instead, they made their way back below the bridges to where the river was safely quiet, and there were plenty of boats to choose from.   
“What’s that place there?” Ralph asked, pointing towards a large building on the bank.  
“Just one of the boat sheds,” George said. “Why?”  
“Well look – it’s been left wide open,” Ralph replied. “How about we do a bit of pilfering too? No one knows we’re here, but everyone knows that lot are!”  
“What?” George gasped. “You serious?”  
“Naturally,” Ralph said. “Come on now – we want to get them into as much trouble as we can, don’t we? So why ever not? No need to take much, especially as we’ve got to carry it on the bikes anyway, but let’s go and see what there is worth having. Even if we can’t patch it on them, if we get the right sort of stuff I’m sure you can flog it off in Norwich or something!”  
George wasn’t too happy about it, but when they found a bag of small shackles just inside the open door it was simply too good an opportunity to miss. They split the load between the two bikes, pushed off half a dozen boats, and headed back to Horning.  
“That should stir things up all right!” Ralph chuckled as they got back to bed.

Their plan was progressing very nicely they thought. Having volunteered their services as river patrol wardens, no one ever asked questions about them being out and about late into the evening, which also meant they could sleep in late the next morning without raising any suspicions.   
Shortly after lunch they saw Tedder patrolling through the village, so they stopped him and asked if he’d got any proof yet.  
“I never found anything last night,” he complained. “Seems no one was about anywhere were they shouldn’t have been.”  
“We never found anything either,” George lied.  
“Well – stands to reason we wouldn’t have,” Ralph said. “Hadn’t you heard? Those three young villains were away for the night, weren’t they?”  
“Away?” Tedder asked.  
“Yes, we heard one of them yelling across the staithe,” Ralph said. “They got a tow to that funny sounding place . . . Where was it George?”  
“Potter Heigham,” George said. “Some visitor they managed to somehow persuade towed them up there. No idea why they went, but as far as we can tell it made for a quiet night here.”  
“I see,” Tedder said. “I saw they wasn’t at the staithe: I wondered where they’d got to.”

Late that afternoon George’s Aunt asked if they could go to the Post Office to drop a letter off for her, and as she’d promised them bloaters for their supper they reluctantly said they would. Their reluctance vanished however when they realised the three boys were just mooring Death and Glory in their usual place as they got there, and they made sure to intercept them as they made their way to Roy’s shop.  
“So you’re here again?” George accosted them.  
“Any more boats cast off?” one of them asked.  
“Nobody to cast them off with you away, not unless it’s young Tom,” George said.  
“Not likely to with us watching,” Ralph added.  
The boys said nothing more, but hurried over to the shop, while George and Ralph mounted their bicycles and rode off, smiling broadly in the dusk.

As the evening was fading fast into darkness PC Tedder came round to find George at his uncle’s house. “Where was it you said those lads got to?” he asked.  
“Potter,” George said. “Why?”  
“Just had word through that there was boats cast off at Potter last night,” Tedder said. “Looks like they been up to their tricks again. I’d best go and see what they got to say for themselves.”  
Tedder may have intended to go to the staithe alone, but neither George or Ralph were going to let that kind of opportunity slip, so he found they were going with him. The Death and Glory was plainly occupied, with lights showing at all the windows, so Tedder did his usual and banged his hand hard on the cabin roof.  
“Who’s there?” a voice called from inside, and then the door opened.  
“No, it’s not you I want to see,” Tedder said, realising he’d better go carefully as it was the doctor’s son who’d come out. “It’s that young Joe and the others.”  
But rather than any of the supposedly guilty party appearing, it was a posh looking boy and girl who had not been around for months that appeared next.  
“No, it’s not you either,” Tedder said, recognising them from earlier in the year. “Glad to see you back though.”  
Then the oldest boy came out into the crowded cockpit, followed closely by the other two.  
“Now, young Joe,” Tedder said. “You wasn’t here last night.”  
“No,” the lad replied. “But there hasn’t been any more boats cast off. George Owdon say so.”  
“Not here there hasn’t,” Tedder said. “Where was you last night though? That’s what I need to know.”  
“Above the bridge at Potter,” the boy told him.  
“Ar,” Tedder said, “I heard you was there. And how many boats did you cast off? Word just come through there was half a dozen boats set adrift below Potter Bridge last night.”  
“We never touch no boats!” he protested.  
“You was there though,” Tedder replied. “I’ll ring through to Potter, and I’ll see you in the morning.”  
Tedder left them and went off along the stage, his slow voice booming in the dusk. “They was there right enough. Thank you for telling me.”  
“Who’s that with him?” they heard a voice from the boat.  
“Only George Owdon,” another said.  
“Him again,” the first one replied.

PC Tedder went back to his house to telephone through his report. George and Ralph went back to their room to gloat, and to lay their further plans. The Sir Garnett, one of the old sailing wherries, had been moored just by the Death and Glory – and no one was on board. It would be the biggest thing yet they’d set adrift, but they decided that if they found the opportunity they’d just have to take it. The whole set up was simply too inviting to miss.   
Later that night they found the opportunity was there, and they did take it: not only that, but there was a lovely new coil of rope on top a closed cargo hatch, which Ralph took and hid in the big boat shed.

PC Tedder’s satisfaction at the way the case was progressing was rather spoiled when he read a letter from ‘Indignant’ in his morning paper, but George and Ralph found the irate missive most amusing. For a bobby he was so ignorant and easily led: guiding him along the wrong path was proving to be almost as much fun as setting up the Coot Club to be taken off the river.  
That amusement was even further increased when they went down to the staithe to see what chaos the disappearance of the Sir Garnet had caused. There was absolute pandemonium going on when they arrived, with a general melee of men shouting about the boys being taken off the river, and the wherry owner nearly out of his mind with rage. George and Ralph added their comments to keep it all bubbling along, watching the lads in the boat getting redder and redder in the face as they protested their innocence, while several of the men kept hold of the boat to prevent them going away.  
“Where you trying to escape to?” someone demanded.  
“Only down to Ranworth,” one of the boys replied. “Ain’t we even allowed to do that?”  
“Oh let them go!” George said. “What harm can they do in Ranworth? It’s right off the river, not like they’d be here.”  
Everyone fell to arguing again, but then the people holding the boat joined in and released their grip on the riging, so before anyone could stop them the three boys made their escape and headed off down the river out of the way.  
“So we’ll be cycling to Ranworth then I suppose?” Ralph asked as they left the crowd behind. “How far is it? My legs still ache from the jaunt to that Potter place.”  
“Oh don’t worry,” George replied. “It’s only about three miles, going across the ferry. This casting off lark is getting so easy though: if you don’t want to cycle it then I’ll go there on my own.”  
Ralph patrolled the Horning stretch on his own that night – or to be more precise, they both went out of the house soon after dark, and Ralph found a quiet corner just over the fence into the Wilderness to doze in, while George took his bicycle over on the ferry and rode to Ranworth.  
Ralph was still quietly sleeping in the Wilderness when George came back.  
“What kind of time do you call this?” Ralph asked when he realised it was well past midnight.  
“Far too late!” George said, plainly extremely annoyed. “That’s what I call it! Got a bleedin’ puncture, didn’t I? Lost the tube off my pump too, so I had to push the stupid bike all the way back! I suppose you’ve been sleeping all this time, haven’t you? Well you can do the next lot! I’ve had it for now.”  
“You managed to set some adrift though?” Ralph asked.   
“Beauties!” George said. “No current in there of course, but the wind was just right. They’ll be right across the other side of the broad by the morning. Eight of them! And no one else around to get blamed for it. We’ve got them now, I reckon. No one will ever believe they aren’t doing it, not after Potter and Ranworth. Just hope no one heard me though: you can’t work them ferry chains quietly, no matter what you do.”  
“Ahh – no one will have heard anything!” Ralph assured him. “It’s miles away from the village.”  
“The bleeding pub’s right there, you idiot!” George said. “Half the staff live on the premises, it’s so far away. There’s always people there, right through the night.”  
“It’s only public spirited people like us who’re awake in the small hours though,” Ralph chuckled.

By the time George and Ralph woke up the next morning the news of George’s work at Ranworth had already spread as far as Horning, but at first there was no sign of the supposed culprits. Then Ralph overheard a comment between two women outside the shop, and reported to George that they were hiding away in somewhere called the Wilderness.  
“Where’s the Wilderness though?” he asked. “I thought most places round here could be called that.”  
“It’s where you were sleeping last night,” George said. “If you’d gone in a bit further you’d have found the dyke – it’s always quiet and it’s out of sight, so I expect they think they can hide themselves away in there or something.”  
Naturally, they just happened to drop it into conversation with PC Tedder that the Death and Glory was in the Wilderness, and without ever realising that he was being set up, Tedder went along there that evening to make sure of their whereabouts, and to question them again – but naturally he learned nothing.  
“It’s not helping our aims with that lot hiding away like that,” George moaned. “There’s no boats anywhere near them now.”  
“Just as well we took those shackles then!” Ralph said.   
“What do you mean?” George asked.  
“I don’t know . . . ” Ralph said. “How about we feed them just a few . . . make it look as if they couldn’t sell them all so they’re handing the rest in?”  
“How would we do that then?” George asked.  
“Ohh . . . make sure no one’s in then drop some down their chimney, or something like that . . . you know, that might work quite well actually!” Ralph said. “Do a Father Christmas job on them. No one will ever believe them if they come up with a tale like that!”  
“Mmmm – could be worth a try you know,” George said. “Yes . . . . Might well be worth a try . . . ”

The afternoon turned foggy which helped them even more, but just for safety Ralph kept watch by their bikes while George crept through the bushes. The boat seemed deserted, so he paused on the bank to listen. All was silent, and no smoke showed from the stupid chimney pot they’d rigged. He felt the pot and it was cold, so he pulled the cowl off the top and posted the small bundle of shackles down it. He was just putting the cowl back when he heard a call, but Ralph had given no warning so he continued to make sure it was seated properly – but then as he completed his work the call came again, and he realised it was that silly girl who’d come to stay, just coming into sight along the bank. He turned and ran into the bushes, but almost fell over a dog that got in the way. The dog squealed as he trod on it and something caught the leg of his trousers, but he pulled himself free and ran.  
“Fat lot of good you were!” he said as he jumped over the fence and grabbed his bike. “They came along the river bank! Quick! Let’s get out of here!”   
Both of them pedalled hard to get away from the Wilderness, but then slowed down and rode sedately through the village as if they had no care in the world.   
“You catch your bags on something?” Ralph asked as they got off their bikes by George’s house. “Just there’s a tear in your leg.”  
“What?” George explained, looking so see what he meant. “That bloody dog! I’ll kill it!”  
“Why? What happened?” Ralph asked.  
“That stupid little pug dog they have with them sometimes! It got under my feet as I came away, and I got caught in a bramble or something. I’ll have to get Aunty to mend it for me now. Stupid kids! Making me rush off like that! I’ll bleeding sue them, you see if I don’t!”  
“Not a very good idea that,” Ralph said. “We weren’t anywhere near them and their boat, were we? And as we weren’t there of course, how can it be you that kicked the dog? Sorry George, but I think you’ll have to let that one go. Put it down as expenses against the money you’ll make next year, when there’ll be no one around to get in the way of your rightful trade!”  
Annoyed as he was, George still chuckled at the thought of uninterrupted egg harvesting. Yes, Ralph was right – again! He’d need to let that one go, given the circumstances.

George and Ralph spent the evening wondering when the shackles would be found, and what might happen when they were. It was so tempting to go and listen near the boat, but it wasn’t worth the risk so they had to wait in patience. But then they struck lucky the next morning.  
They were both going out together, mainly to get away from George’s Aunt as she wanted to clean their room, and as they rode into the village they saw the three lads coming down the road, carrying a very familiar looking bundle between them.  
“Where are you going?” George demanded.  
“Police,” the middle lad replied.  
“Cast off any more boats yet?” Ralph asked.  
“We ain’t cast off no boats,” the oldest one said.  
“What have you got in that bag?” George asked.  
“Tell him,” the middle one said.  
“Lot of shackles,” the oldest one said. “Bet you it’s them shackles what was took from Sonning’s at Potter.”  
“You ought to know,” George replied.  
“What do you mean . . . ‘You ought to know’?” came the angry reply.  
“Well, don’t you?” George mocked him. “You’ve seen the notice. Taking them to Tedder are you? Yes. I suppose that’s the best thing you could do.”  
Ralph laughed.  
“Yes,” George continued. “You take them to Mr Tedder like good boys, and perhaps he’ll let you off easy.”  
“We haven’t done nothing to be let off,” the smallest boy exclaimed.  
“Well, if you count casting off other people’s boats as nothing, and stealing as nothing . . . ” George said.  
“I find ’em in our stove,” he said.  
“Naturally you knew where to find them if you put them there,” George replied.  
“Come on,” the oldest one said, stopping the others before they could say more. “Mr Tedder’s got more sense than some.”  
“Now then,” George said. “No cheek.”  
George and Ralph looked at each other as the three boys hurried away, and tried not to laugh too much. Oh, but those silly suckers were playing straight into their hands!

  
George and Ralph rode out of the village, still chuckling as they went, then found a quiet gateway to hide their bikes and have a smoke.  
“Well that went rather well!” Ralph said, blowing a smoke ring just to show off. “So what are we going to try next? They’ve made it much harder for us, hiding away in the bushes like that, but surely there’s got to be another way of getting at them still.”  
“Tricky,” George said. “We can’t let it go too quiet, but hidden away like that they’ve not given us much room . . . . . Would dropping more shackles on them work do you think?”  
“All depends on what Tedder thinks about that first load,” Ralph said. “We might have to sound him out somehow. Now . . . I wonder what might work? If we just go and ask then even an idiot like him might wonder . . . we need some other reason to see him . . . . . ”   
“Yes . . . ” George said slowly. “So . . . what haven’t we tried yet? We’ve done night time patrols, we’ve . . . Oh but of course!”  
“What?” Ralph asked, sitting and throwing the butt of his cigarette into the hedge. “What new idea have you come up with then?”  
“You remember back at the start,” George said, “When everyone was mouthing off on the staithe – well – do you remember what the Towzer boys were saying?”  
“Which ones are the Towzers?” Ralph asked.   
“Those two posh ones,” George said. “Couple of years older than us. School blazer and snooty noses.”  
“Oh them!” Ralph said. “Yes! Them! Lots of talk but no action types – I remember them. What about them though? What did they say?”  
“They were talking about patrolling the river in their boat,” George replied. “You know – the one we cast off for them! The two-man rowing boat that was moored below the staithe.”  
“Yes,” Ralph said.  
“Well,” George chuckled. “I don’t think they’ve hardly done anything about it – so if we borrow their boat we can do a river patrol ourselves, but just to be polite we’d need to tell Tedder what we were going to do . . . . . ”   
“Which gives us the perfect opportunity to find out what he’s thinking about the shackles!” Ralph finished off. “George my friend – you’re a genius! Far too good to be stuck in a back-water like this! You need to come up to town with me you know, then we could set up some real deals!”

PC Tedder was most amenable to the concept of more water-borne patrols, and whole-heartedly endorsed their plan. In the process he also told them that he was of the opinion that the boys still had the rest of the shackles hidden somewhere, and that he was quite sure he’d find them soon.   
“I’m sure you will,” Ralph said. “A hard-working policeman like you . . . . . ”   
George nudged him then, so he didn’t say any more, but they could almost see PC Tedder swell with pride at their false praise.  
“You laid that on a bit heavy!” George chuckled as they walked back to the staithe. “Mustn’t go too far: we both know he’s a bit slow, but I don’t think he’s a complete idiot!”  
“I know,” Ralph said. “Just I couldn’t resist it. And he swallowed it! You could see how he did.”  
“Oh took the bait, the hook and nearly the float!” George chuckled. “I know! But I think we’d still best be a bit careful on the flattery – just in case.”

The Towzers were very happy for George and Ralph to use their skiff, and kept on apologising for not having done much patrolling themselves. “We keep meaning to,” one of them said, “But you know how it is. Always something else has to be done, and Mater’s not too keen on us staying out late very often – we’ve only ever done it a couple of times.”  
“Don’t worry,” Ralph said. “We know what it’s like. We’ve not got School Certificate to swat for yet, so we’ll do a few nights and see how it goes.”

Ralph and George took the boat down the river for a short spin, and though Ralph still had a lot to learn about rowing, he was deemed passable as crew – so long as he remembered to watch George’s stroke and keep in time.   
On their way back they went past Dr Dugeon’s house, and realised the garden was full of kids. With their noses slightly in the air, and concentrating hard on not looking towards the lawn, they rowed straight past.  
“I just can’t wait to see the looks on their faces when Tedder says they’re guilty!” Ralph chuckled as they got round the corner. “It’ll make all this work so worthwhile then!”

Having taken the boat back to the Towzers, they arranged to use it again for another practice later, and then to take it for a longer patrol as the evening became dark.  
“They’re on that boat of theirs with no adults,” George explained to the Towzers, “But they’ll still not want to be up too late. Poor little boys need to get to bed at a reasonable time, and all that!”

Their second practice went rather better than the first, with Ralph keeping far better time, so before he became too tired from all the exercise they headed back to the staithe, planning on leaving the boat there as it would be more convenient for later.  
Just as they were fastening the moorings though they heard young voices, and the six kids came walking along the staithe.

“Tom and his young friends,” George said, making sure his loud whisper carried far enough.  
“Had I better stay and watch the boat?” Ralph asked.  
“They won’t dare to cast her off here, not now that we’ve seen them,” George said, making a big show of putting two extra half hitches on his painter, even though the boat was already well secured.  
“We’ll be back before dark anyway,” Ralph said.

They were back, well before dark, and as well as a Thermos of tea and some sandwiches, they had another small bundle of the shackles in their knapsack. Giving a friendly wave to one of Jonatt’s workmen who was still at the yard, they untied the boat and set off.  
“Hope you catch the varmints!” the worker called as they went.  
“We’ll do our best!” Ralph called back.  
“Not a hope!” George muttered as they rowed away. “We’ll never catch them. We can’t!”  
“Yes, but we’re the only ones that know that!” Ralph chuckled.

They rowed down the river toward the ferry, looking around all the time as would be expected of a preventative patrol, then as soon as they saw no one was watching, they shot into the narrow entrance of the Wilderness dyke.  
“Quite useful, them being hidden away like this!” George said, as they moored the boat to a bush and softly walked around the corner. The Death and Glory was moored there in solitary splendour, just waiting for them. “No one around to see us . . . . . ”  
“Not unless they’ve left anyone on board still,” Ralph said.   
“No signs of movement,” George said. “No ripples. I reckon they’re still round at the doctor’s place. I’ll just check though: they always have their stupid fire on if any one’s about.”  
He stepped out of the boat while Ralph held it against the bank.  
“Pass me the stuff,” he said quietly. “Save me coming back for it.”  
Ralph passed him up the bundle of shackles, and George made his way softly up to the boat. He put the bundle down for a moment, then reached out to feel the chimney.  
“The stupid bunch!” he suddenly exclaimed. “The little swine!”  
“Keep your noise down!” Ralph hissed. “What have they done though?”  
“Painted their sodding chimney!” George said. “I’m all green paint now! The rotten little swine! It’ll be a nightmare to get it off!”  
“Oh stop moaning!” Ralph said. “Dump the stuff and let’s get out of here! I saw some turps in the shed when we were getting the stuff out, so we can clean you up there.”  
“But I can’t get back into the boat like this!” George said. “If I get green paint on it the Towzers’ dad will have my guts for garters! He’s so blooming proud of their stupid boat . . . . . No, you’ll have to get it back on your own, and I’ll have to go out the other way. See you back home in a bit!”  
“But . . . !” Ralph started to object, but it was already too late. George had gone, pushing his way through the bushes to get into the road, still muttering threats as he went. Ralph untied the boat and struggled to turn it, then realised he couldn’t so tried to work out how to paddle it out backwards. He did get it out, eventually, then took ages rowing back up to the staithe. He bumped it quite hard on the piling as he tried to bring it in there, nearly fell in as he clambered ashore, then moored it with a great tangle of knotted rope before heading back to the house in a sulk.   
George was in the shed, stinking of turps and still rubbing his hands with an old rag, but at least he’d got pretty well all of the paint off.   
“Took your time!” he said as Ralph came in.  
“Well, what do you expect?” Ralph asked. “You’re the local: you’re the one who knows about boats. First time I’ve ever tried to move one on my own! Blinking good job no one saw me coming here. I don’t know what I’d have said if anyone had asked about why I was doing it all wrong.”  
“Oh! Sorry!” George said. “I never thought of that! You managed it OK though?”  
“No thanks to you and your bright ideas!” Ralph complained. 

After the chimney fiasco Ralph and George let things go quiet for a day, though of course they kept on looking for new possibilities. It was good that the three lads in their ramshackle boat were effectively off the river, but they weren’t yet off it permanently, which was what they ultimately wanted, so they knew more work would still be required.  
But then Tedder came to see them, to say that a visitor had moored his boat down near the ferry, but only afterwards found out that there was a risk of it being cast off in his absence. The man said he had to catch the bus, so had no time to move it, but could George and Ralph keep an especially close eye on it while they were doing their patrols?  
Oh yes! They could certainly do that alright!  
“We’ll keep a very close eye on it for you,” Ralph said. “And on those young sharks in their stupid boat too. We’ll make it our first priority for you.”  
“Oh yes!” George chuckled as they walked away. “Most certainly – our absolutely top priority!”  
Along with half the village it seemed, they ‘just happened’ to go down towards the ferry, needing to see exactly how the boat lay. It was beautifully positioned, all on its own, on a nice open stretch of bank but with a few bushes nearby to hide behind if needs be. And not only that, but they saw that the Death and Glory had been brought out from where it had been in the Wilderness dyke, and was now also moored on the open river.  
“They’re making it too easy for us!” Ralph chuckled. “What a bunch of suckers!”

That night George and Ralph patrolled very visibly and carefully along the Horning reach – until it became dark enough for them not to be seen. They then want back to George’s house and took a rest, knowing nothing would happen in their absence.  
They waited for everyone to go to bed and the village to become dark and still, then crept softly down towards the ferry. Good! The boat was still there.  
“Best just check,” Ralph said softly. “Make sure the suckers are asleep and all that.”  
They crept softly along the bank. Yes! There it was! The Death and Glory, such a stupid name, with the windows of their silly cabin all lit up.   
As they came closer they heard voices from inside the boat, but the curtains were drawn right across so they couldn’t look in. Ralph tried to get on board to see better, but the boat moved the moment he touched it, so he realised that would not work.  
“Come on Bill!” a voice said from inside the cabin. “Bed time! Young Pete ought to be fast asleep by now.”   
There was a pause but they could not catch the reply, then, “Hurry up! That don’t take half an hour to get a pair of boots off!”  
Ralph and George tiptoed away. All was working well. All was working just as they wanted it to . . . . 

They made their way back through the bushes to the road, then walked softly down to where their victim was moored. It was well past ten before they got there, by which time it had long been fully dark. Scrambling through the meadow and up the bank to the river wasn’t easy in the darkness, but Ralph used his torch, and with a few judicious flashes from it they were able to find their way.  
“It’s close here now!” George murmured. “Just past those bushes. Go easy!”  
Ralph let a narrow sliver of light shine out between his fingers – and there she was. Just as she’d been left. A perfect target to cast off, especially with those kids asleep in their boat so close by, and absolutely certain to be blamed for it.  
They found the two anchors by feel, easing them out of the rond, putting them up on the deck. The stream didn’t take the boat straight away, so they leaned against it to help it out from the bank . . . . and with a massive ‘whoosh’ a huge flare went off right next to them.  
Even before the light died down they heard footsteps as someone ran off along the bank.  
“After him! Quick!” Ralph shouted. “Don’t let him get away!”  
The sudden flash of the big flare had completely destroyed his night-vision, so he had to use his torch to pick out the path along the bank, but once they had the direction they both set off in hot pursuit. Whoever it was they were chasing though, he clearly knew his way – as they could hear his splashes and footsteps up ahead, but they seemed unable to catch him.  
“Got to be one of them lads,” Ralph said. “Just look at where he’s heading for!”  
“No one else up this way,” George agreed. “Got to be one of them.”  
They ran on in the darkness, Ralph’s torch swinging wildly, illuminating the river, the field, the bank . . . and then showing them a drainage ditch that blocked their path.  
“There’ll be a bridge!” George said. “It’ll be up this way somewhere!”  
Looking for the bridge slowed them down, and when they found it, it was only a single plank.  
“Come on!” George said. “Over here!”  
They ran across the plank, even though it bounced horribly underneath them as they went. But then it bounced even more and the end came loose . . . and before they could stop themselves they were both floundering in the edge of the muddy ditch.  
“What the . . . ?” George exclaimed.  
“They did that on purpose!” Ralph said. “Bastards! I’ll get them! Come on George! We’ve got to prove it was them now!”  
“That’s their boat,” George said, as Ralph’s torch shone across it momentarily. “Come on!”  
George jumped onto the boat and rattled the door. It was locked, of course. More proof of their guilt!  
“Open up!” he shouted, banging on the cabin roof. “Come on out of that!”  
There were mumbles inside, and then a voice sleepy sounding called, “Who’s there?”  
“River watchers!” Ralph said.  
“All’s well here!” the voice inside replied.  
“We’ll give you all’s well!” Ralph shouted, jumping onto the boat beside George and rattling the door again. “Locked,” he said. “Run them to earth alright. Shine your torch in here – yes – you can see the key’s in the lock.”  
“You clear off and leave us alone!” the voice inside said. “We want to get some sleep!”  
“No chance!” Ralph said quietly. “We’ve got to get them now!”  
“Well?” George asked, his voice rising as he shook and pulled at the door. “We know he’s in there all right. Come on out of there!”  
“Idiots!” Ralph said. “You know we saw you! You may as well come out now as later!”  
“Stop that!” someone shouted from inside as Ralph kicked hard at the door again.  
They could hear movements inside, but not the sounds of anyone unlocking the door.  
“What do we do now?” George muttered, nearly falling over a bucket in the dim light. “We can’t break in! We’ll be in the wrong if we do.”  
“Yes,” Ralph said, “But with that flash thing I’d say one of them had a camera. I tell you, we’ve got to make sure.”  
There was more muttering inside, and then the voice inside called, “Who are you?”  
“You’ll see soon enough!” Ralph shouted. “Are you going to open this door for us?”  
“What for? We ain’t invited anyone!” came the response.  
“We’ll break it in then!” George threatened.  
“You’ll have a job!” was the only response they got.  
“It probably is too strong,” Ralph said. “It looks like they got some decent timber from somewhere. But we’ve got to do something though. I tell you it isn’t safe not to make sure!”  
“Do it the other way then,” George said with a chuckle. “Flood them out of there! After all, if they will leave a bucket here for us to find . . . !”  
He dipped the bucket over the side, then passed it up to Ralph where he crouched up on the low cabin roof. He pulled the cowl off the chimney, and upended the bucket straight down onto the fire.   
“Another one!” he said, passing the bucket back to George.  
The second lot of water shot down after the first onto the remains of the fire, and there was a lot of gasping and coughing. Then George heard what he wanted, as a voice inside said, “All right! We’ll open!”  
Moments later the door swung out, and George grabbed the collar of a lad who hung his head out, gulping down the fresh, night-time air. He heaved the lad out, then grabbed the second one as he followed.   
“Any more?” George demanded. “Three of you, aren’t there? Where’s the third?”  
“You can see he ain’t here!” the first one coughed.  
“You ain’t got no right to make a mess of our boat, not even if you are river watchers!” the other one said.  
He muttered something about knowing who’d been casting off boats, but the older one told him to shut up.  
“Been swimming?” he asked instead, so Ralph smacked him on the face.  
“Who are you hitting?” the lad demanded.  
“You!” Ralph said. “And you’ll get some more if you start giving any cheek. Come on George, we need to make sure!”  
The steam and fume in the cabin had mostly cleared by then, so George and Ralph looked inside  
“You might have set the ship on fire!” a voice said behind them.  
“Ship!” George jeered. “A lot you cared for what happens to the ‘ships’ you cast adrift!”  
“We didn’t . . . . . ” one of them started, but neither George nor Ralph was listening.   
“I’m going in now,” George said, pushing his way in through the doorway, and banging his head hard as he did so.   
Ralph stayed outside with the two lads, making sure they didn’t run off.   
“What’s he doing?” one of them asked.  
“Shut up!” Ralph said.  
George took a good look around the cabin, though it was so small that there wasn’t much to see. He opened the cupboards and pulled the contents out, tore the covers off the beds, then swept everything off the shelves.   
“Hello!” he suddenly said, picking up a wooden box that had fallen to the floor. “Got it!”  
“Don’t you touch that!” one of the lads shouted, which merely confirmed to George that he’d found what he wanted. He ripped the lid off, and seeing it was full of cotton wool pulled that out too.  
Moments later he threw the box into the corner and sucked his hand, where it had been badly bitten by whatever had been in the box. The older boy pushed past him, picked up the box, then tried to catch the white rat that had scuttled into the front of the boat.  
“I’ll kill that rat for you!” George shouted.  
“You won’t!” the boy said, turning to the rat and trying to calm it.   
“Leave him alone!” Ralph said. “We’ve looked everywhere. You’re sure it’s not there?”  
“I thought it was in that box,” George said, looking at his finger by the light of the hanging lantern.  
“Come on then,” Ralph said. “If it’s not here then we’re all right.”  
“You wait till the morning!” the boy with the rat said. “We’ll tell Mr Tedder what you done to our boat!”  
“I’ll tell him I caught you casting loose that cruiser!” the other one added.  
“Who’ll believe you?” George laughed. “We’ve got something to tell Tedder too you know! We saw you unmoor that boat and put her adrift. You saw him too, didn’t you Ralph?”  
“Swear to it any day!” Ralph said.   
“Now what about Mr Tedder?” George asked. “This’ll settle it. We were watching for you and we saw you take those anchors up and push her off. That was all he said he was waiting for, for someone to catch you in the act.”  
“Liars!” one of the boys gasped.  
“We’ll tell him first,” the other one said.  
“Come on, George,” Ralph said as they walked away. “We’ll go and tell him now.”  
“Are rat-bites poisonous?” George asked as they went.  
“Hope that one is,” a shout came from behind them.  
George turned back, but Ralph grabbed him  
“Let go!” George said. “I’m going to kill him this time!”  
“Never mind him,” Ralph said. “Now you listen to me. What’s the name of that kid? We’ve both got to say we saw the same one.”  
George was muttering threats most of the way back, but in the end Ralph persuaded him to leave things alone.  
“All we’ve got to do is both stick to the same story!” he said. “Tedder’s so stupid he’ll believe us over those kids any day. Let’s get your finger cleaned up and put our story together, then we can get it in first in the morning. Don’t worry! This one’s going to work out – I know it is – and then you’ll have those kids off the river for good.”

Before they went to sleep that night, Ralph and George had got what they thought was a water-tight story put together, of how they’d seen Bill casting off the moored boat, and when they’d challenged him he’d run off so they’d followed him to his own boat.  
“What if they say about us putting water down their chimney though?” George worried.  
“We’ll say it was the only way to get them to unlock the door,” Ralph assured him. “We gave them plenty of time to open up, but they wouldn’t. We decided to pour a pint or two onto their fire to make things unpleasant for them, in an effort to help persuade them, but the bucket slipped. Don’t be so worried George! I keep telling you, this one’s going to work out brilliantly and you’ll soon have the whole lot of them banned from the river.”  
“I do hope so!” George muttered.

They took their tale to PC Tedder the next morning, trotting it out as they’d agreed and giving him all the details – the selection of real ones mixed with the invented ones they’d decided on. He seemed to accept their version with no problem, and indeed it fitted quite well with his pre-conceived notions of what must have happened.  
“I warned that visitor about mooring there,” Tedder said. “He wouldn’t listen though. Now someone will need to go and find his boat, wherever it’s got to, and get it back for him. However boys, that will have to wait for now. Mr Farland asked me to present my case to him as soon as I had compelling evidence, so I think if we go now we should be able to catch him before he leaves for his office.”  
“Farland?” Ralph asked.  
“He’s the solicitor acting on behalf of Sonnings Boatyard,” Tedder explained. “They want to catch the culprit on those shackles taken at Potter. Now that we can prove it was those three boys who were casting off the boats, I’m sure he’ll take that as their proof of guilt over them too.  
“Come on – we’ll all go together, and then you can give him the facts direct.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Mr Farland’s car was still visible in his garage, so PC Tedder rang the doorbell.  
“Could you ask Mr Farland if he’ll see us?” he said when the housekeeper answered. “And would you be so good as to tell him it’s urgent please.”  
The three of them were shown into the Farland’s parlour, which they found to be surprisingly full, as what looked like the whole gang of the kids had gathered there too. For a moment George was worried, but then he remembered how sure Ralph was, so he quickly relaxed.  
“We ought to have gone to him right away!” they heard a voice say as they entered. “Didn’t I tell you?”  
“Shut up!” another voice hissed.  
“Open and shut!” PC Tedder said as soon as Mr Farland looked up at him. “We know who done it now. Got all the proof we was needing. From information received, Mr Owdon and . . . ” he paused, and looked in his notebook. “. . . . and Mr Strakey kep watch on the cruiser Cachalot last night where she were moored below the Ferry. At ten forty-three pm they hear footsteps approaching. At ten forty-seven . . .”  
His flow was interrupted slightly as two more of the young children slipped in at the back. They seemed to be rather out of breath: Tedder ignored them.   
“. . . . at ten forty-seven,” he continued, “The witnesses, Mr Owdon and Mr Strakey, hear anchors bein’ put on deck. At ten forty-eight they jump up out of their place of concealment and catch the guilty party apushing of the Cachalot off of the bank. He dodge ’em and they give chase and run him till he lock himself into his own boat. Not being official they couldn’t take his name and address, but they catch him proper, and report to me, and sorry I am, young Bill, for your dad’s as decent a man as there is about this place . . . . ”  
Mr Farland looked at the young lad they’d chased the previous night.  
“But it was t’other way about!” he spluttered. “It was Pete and me catch them two pushing of her off.”  
“He said he was going to say that,” George laughed.  
“One minute,” Mr Farland said, ignoring George’s comment. “You see that chimney pot, Owdon. Would you mind just fitting your hand to that mark?”  
“Certainly,” George replied. “It’ll be a perfect fit, too, for I made it myself.”  
“How was that?” Mr Farland asked.  
“Ralph and I knew pretty well all along that it was these boys who had been playing the mischief with the boats,” George replied airily, glad that he and Ralph had rehearsed such matters beforehand. “So one evening when there was a bit of a fog, and we expected they’d be up to something, I went to their boat and felt the chimney to see if they were at home. We needed to know if we had to go to see what they were doing elsewhere.”  
“And you found them not at home?” Frank Farland asked.  
“Indeed,” Ralph replied, “So naturally we went on patrol to try and make sure they could not push any more boats off.”  
George was very glad to hear the girl let out a groan. Oh, it was so good running rings around the little jumped-up idiots!  
“I see,” Mr Farland said. “So then, young Bill: about this affair last night. Did I hear you say you saw these two boys pushing off the Catchlot?”   
“Not what you can call see ’em,” Bill admitted slowly. “Not till they chase me to the Death and Glory and we had to ope our door along with them emptying buckets down our chimbley.”  
“So you admit that you were near the Cachalot at the time they say?” Frank Farland asked. “Why then did you run away if you were doing no harm?”  
“Didn’t want ’em to catch Pete,” Bill said.  
George glanced at Ralph. Where did this third boy come into it? He’d been away, hadn’t he? They’d not allowed for him in their tale. He looked back, suddenly aware that Mr Farland was looking at him.  
“So how was it, Mr Owdon,” he asked. “How was it that you didn’t see Pete if he was pushing off the Cachalot with Bill?”  
“He wasn’t,” George said.  
Mr Farland turned to Pete. “Were you there?” he asked.  
“Yes,” Pete said.  
“What did you do when Bill ran away?”  
“Sit tight,” Pete said. “That’s what they tell me to do.”  
“Did you see those two pushing off the Cachalot?”  
“Not to know ’em,” Pete said. “But someone push her off. We do know that. We . . .”  
Mr Farland turned again to George. “Dark night wasn’t it?” he said. “You had torches, I suppose.”  
George was no longer sure what to say. This wasn’t going how they had planned it, and he hadn’t got a ready answer to the unexpected question.   
Ralph sensed his dilemma, and cut in quickly before George could say something wrong. “With that great flare they made,” he said, “We couldn’t help seeing him.”  
The moment Ralph spoke George knew it was the wrong thing to have said. Up till now things had been going so well! He turned and glared at Ralph.  
“Flare?” Mr Farland asked. “They lit a flare just when they were pushing the boat off?”  
“Not exactly,” George said, now wanting to make sure Ralph didn’t say anything else unhelpful. “If Pete was there too, that perhaps explains it. We didn’t understand it at the time. There was a white flare, and we saw Bill pushing the boat off. He must have seen us at the same moment, for he bolted and we ran him to earth in their old boat.”  
“What was the flare like?” asked Mr Farland.  
“Well . . . something like a photographic flashlight,” George said. “But it seemed a bit too big for that.”  
“Did you light a flare?” Mr Farland asked Pete.  
“I did,” Bill said.  
“But how could you light a flare when you were pushing off the Cachalot?” Mr Farland asked.  
“I tell you I weren’t pushing of her off.”  
“We saw you,” George said, desperately trying to re-establish their version of events as the truth.  
“Why did you light the flare?” Mr Farland asked, in the same quiet, even tone that he had used all the time.  
“We was taking a photograph,” Bill said. “To catch whoever it were pushing the Cachalot adrift.”  
“They hadn’t got a camera,” George said.  
Mr Farland swung round. “How do you know that?” he quietly asked.  
Neither George nor Ralph could answer that question. They didn’t want to admit that they had forced their way into the Death and Glory to search it, and they hadn’t taken Pete’s presence into account at all.  
While they were still trying to find a way to explain the new details they became aware of a movement behind them, by the window. One of the pair who’d come in late was fumbling with something in his hands.   
“It’s done,” he said, “It’ll go black if you keep it in the light, but I can always print another.”  
He dropped something on the floor with a clatter, and put a small photograph in front of Mr Farland.  
  
“Come on,” Ralph said quietly, making a movement towards the exit.  
“Not just yet,” Mr Farland said, without lifting his eyes from the photograph. “Just shut the door, will you, Tedder? This is very interesting.”  
Everyone was trying to see what there was on that small piece of shiny paper lying on Mr Farland’s blotting pad. George and Ralph tried too, but they were standing in the wrong place to see clearly.  
“A very remarkable likeness,” Mr Farland said, picking up the picture and handing it over. “What do you think, constable?”  
Mr Tedder looked at the photograph. “Well, I’ll be danged!” he said.  
Mr Farland thought for some moments.  
“The value of evidence,” he eventually said, “Fluctuates with its context.”   
No one knew what he meant, so he went on. “This photograph,” he said, looking up at George and Ralph, “Will, in any court of law, serve as proof that the boat that was cast off last night was cast off by George Owdon and . . .”  
“Strakey,” Mr Tedder said.  
“Mr Strakey,” Mr Farland continued. “But that is not all. It gives an entirely new value to a great deal of other evidence that, without it, I should have been justified in dismissing as unconvincing. Owdon, am I right in thinking that you ride a bicycle?”  
George nodded.  
“And it has Dunlop tyres?” He laid a crude sketch of some tyre tracks on the table in front of him. “This,” he said, “concerns the Ranworth affair. It also has reference to the theft at Potter Heigham. One of our witnesses is prepared to swear that George Owdon was at Potter Heigham on the night that theft was committed. Again the fact that Owdon and, er, Strakey did in fact cast off the boat last night, and then informed the constable that they had seen the boat cast off by someone else, who in fact was in the public interest recording by means of photography the truth of that case, suggests, with other evidence that might otherwise be unmeaning, that Owdon and Strakey were deliberately trying to manufacture evidence to bring innocent persons into disrepute and even into danger of punishment by law. Have you anything to say, Owdon?”  
“It was his idea,” George said.  
“I knew nothing about it except what you told me,” Ralph replied.  
Mr Farland looked from one to the other of them and back again.  
“Apart from the first lot of shackles,” he said, “Which you dropped down the chimney of these boys’ boat on the day when you suffered, I think, some damage to your trousers . . . ”  
Mr Farland pointed at a scrap of grey flannel that George had not noticed before. Had they really gathered that kind of evidence against him?  
“ . . . . . Apart, I say from the first lot of shackles, and the second lot on which you left some green paint that had covered your hand when you felt their chimney, presumably to make sure that your victims were away, there are more than a gross that have not yet been recovered. Where are they?”  
“Box in the tool-shed,” George muttered. “Look here. I’m not going to stand any more of this. I’m going.”  
“I shall not keep you,” Mr Farland said. “But, before you go, let me tell you that I shall be calling on your uncle when I return from my office to-night. Between now and then I shall expect you to write an exact confession of all that you have done in this damnable, yes, damnable, plot to bring discredit on the innocent. As solicitor to the firm you robbed I shall have to decide whether or not I advise them to prosecute. My decision will depend on the completeness of the document that you will have ready for me before I see your uncle. It had better be signed by your accomplice too, as well as by yourself. Do you understand? You can go now.”  
George and Ralph turned and left the room in silence – but as soon as they were out of the house they each turned to the other.  
“You complete idiot!” George fumed. “We’d agreed on everything, to make sure this all went just right, and then you go and say a stupid thing like about them letting of that flare!”  
“Well?” Ralph answered him. “What would you have said? I’d done all the work putting our story together: you hardly did any of it. You should have said there was the third one of those brats needed to be brought in to it! It’s you leaving him out that really messed it up!”  
They were still arguing when they got to George’s uncle and aunt’s house.  
“What have you two been doing?” she asked. “I’ve just had Mr Farland on the telephone. He said you’ve got to write an account for him by tonight. Whatever have you been doing to have to tell him all about it? Have you been getting into trouble about something? What is it? Come on! Tell me!”  
Neither of them said anything.  
“So you have been getting in trouble then,” she said. “Big trouble too, by the sounds of it . . . . Oh no! It wasn’t you that stole those shackles was it? Farland’s name was on the paper they put up about that . . . It was? Oh you stupid child! Whatever did you do it for? . . . . . And no! If it’s you did that, then tell me – please tell me – it wasn’t you been pushing those boats off everywhere as well? I thought you were supposed to be helping Tedder catch whoever it was . . . . and it was you all along?”  
George’s aunt ran out of breath, and stood there, glaring at them, her breath coming in deep gasps.  
“We haven’t done anything!” Ralph started to say.  
“Oh forget it Ralph!” George over-rode him. “They’ll find out soon enough. She’s only got to ask someone down the village.”  
He turned to his aunt. “It was him,” he said, pointing at Ralph.   
“It was you!” Ralph protested, but George ignored him.  
“He told me how we could get those brats off the river,” he said. “Reckoned we could set them up so they didn’t get in our way any more, but he got it all wrong. They went and took a picture of us doing that one last night. Tedder knows now. He was there when they showed Farland.”  
“That was you?” his aunt shrieked. “You? Why you . . . . you . . . . You’ve lived here under our roof for all these years, and we’ve treated you like a son – and you repay us by doing things like that! I’ll need to speak to your uncle when he gets home tonight my boy, but I think you’ll be needing to find someone else to clothe and feed you now! You’d better go and write out that confession for Mr Farland – but I’m seeing it first. You’re no son of mine now: I need to know what evil acts you’ve been getting up to.  
“And as for you, Ralph Strakey,” she went on. “As for you – now, I’m not saying for one moment it was just you that did it. I know our George has been lying to us and stealing little things for years. But even so, don’t you ever go thinking you can come and stay in this house again. As far as I’m concerned you’re no relation of mine any more. You’d best pack your things and go back to your parent’s tomorrow. They should be home by then. And if they’re idiots enough to give house room to you and that . . . that . . . that criminal we’ve looked after for years, your best take him with you.  
“Now – get up to your room and start writing! And remember, I’ll want to have a look at it first, before ever Farland or Tedder get hold of it!”


End file.
